


Love You More

by yellow_backpack



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Peterick, Peterick Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:08:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_backpack/pseuds/yellow_backpack
Summary: Nope :)





	Love You More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cheesehunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesehunter/gifts).



> IT'S BAD I KNOW  
> I'm too lazy to put italics sorry

**Pete**

 

Pete sat on the floor in the corner, where wall met wall, crying.

 

Patrick had left for work in L.A. two weeks ago, and Pete hadn’t heard from him since. Why hadn’t he called? Pete had thought about calling him, but he didn’t want to interrupt his work. He figured he woould call when he wasn’t busy, as he was pretty much across the country.

 

So why hadn’t he called yet?

 

A terrifying thought hit Pete.  _ What if work was just a cover story? _

 

_ What if Patrick wasn’t coming back? _

 

That made Pete sob harder. Earlier, he had dug a cardigan out of the closet in Patrick’s room, just wanting to take in his scent again. Pete brought the cinnabar-colored fabric closer to his face, taking a deep breath. He started crying again. Would he come back?

 

**Patrick**

 

Work had ended early, thank God. Patrick loved his job, but, dangit, it was difficult. Sleepless nights, only the thoughts in his head keeping him company.

 

Which reminded him.

 

He felt guilty for not calling Pete, but he was so busy that week it was ridiculous. Producing four thousand melodies for just a few songs that he couldn’t get right took so much time. But he’d figured Pete would call him. Why didn’t he? Wait.

 

What if Pete left him?

 

He used to sleep around before he had Patrick. But now that Patrick wasn’t anywhere close to Chicago, there wasn’t anything stopping him from doing it again.

 

Patrick suddenly desperately wished that airports weren’t so slow. His flight left in an hour, and even though the flight to Chicago was only four hours, he was pretty sure he’d be wrecked with anxiety the entire time. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, the thought of Pete deciding he didn’t want Patrick anymore broke him.

 

Patrick closed his eyes and slumped down in the chair that he was sitting in, tears almost rolling down his face. Could three o’clock come faster?

 

**Pete**

 

Pete sighed. He glanced at the clock. It was seven thirty. That was it, he decided. Patrick wasn’t coming back. He had been gone too long. Pete knew that he wasn’t supposed to get back until next week, but he hadn’t even  _ texted _ him. And that meant that Patrick was gone forever, and that Pete meant absolutely nothing to him anymore.

 

Pete began sobbing once more. The tear-stained carpet surrounding him looked like more of a barrier now than ever before. He wondered if Patrick would even care if he decided to end it here. Would he even find out?  _ No _ , Pete thought. He abandoned the cardigan next to him. Pulling his legs down from his chest, he slowly stood up and went into the bathroom in his room. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a random bottle. Didn’t matter what it was—as long as you took enough of it, it’d do its job.

 

He set the cap of the bottle down on the counter. He’d been abandoned way too many times in the past—he wasn’t about to let that happen to him again, even if it meant dying. The suicidal thoughts certainly helped.

 

Pete dumped a handful of the pills into his hand, not even bothering to count them. Curiosity struck him, and he turned the pill bottle over to see what it was. Benzedrine. Pete almost laughed at the irony.

 

He set the bottle down and raised his hand to his mouth, ready.

 

**Patrick**

 

He ran up the stairs of the apartment complex, desperate to get to Pete. He’d had a feeling since the plane landed that something bad was going to happen, something he wouldn’t be able to fix. 

 

As he rounded the corner on the second floor, he threw his bag at the wall. It was only slowing him down—he’d worry about it later.

 

Patrick, after what felt like an eternity, reached the door of his and Pete’s shared home. It was, thankfully, unlocked, and Patrick shoved through it.

 

“Pete?!” Patrick yelled. He darted past the kitchen and living room. He barreled into his room. “Peter! Answer me, darnit!” Patrick was becoming more frenzied with each passing second.

 

There was only one more place to look—Pete’s room. Patrick edged the door open, afraid of what he might find. He entered the room, and—

 

Nothing.

 

Was—was that Patrick’s cardigan on the floor?

 

Wait.

 

The bathroom light was on.

 

Patrick sprinted towards that door and burst through it, and what he saw shocked him.

 

Pete, with a handful of pills to his mouth.

 

**Pete**

 

Pete stood there, staring at Patrick.  _ Holy crap. He came back. _

 

He let the pills in his hand clatter to the floor and tears fall from his eyes as he launched himself at Patrick, clinging to him like he was a lifeline. Patrick did the same, hands making fists and pressing themselves into Pete’s back to hold him closer. He started to cry, too, shaking as Pete pressed his head into the shorter man’s shoulder.

 

“God, Patrick, I thought—I thought you left—and I couldn’t do it—thought you didn’t want me anymore—”

 

“Oh, Pete,” Patrick managed to choke out through his tears. “God, I’d never ever do that to you.”

 

In a minute, the tears had subsided, but they stayed exactly where they were. “Why are you home early?” Pete whispered.

 

“Work ended early,” Patrick replied. “I would’ve called, but I was  _ so busy _ and—wait, my turn.” Patrick pulled away from Pete and gave the man a concerned and sad look. “Pills?” he asked, kind of timidly.

 

Pete looked down. “I thought you had left,” he said simply. “I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to bother you at work, I figured you’d call, and then you didn’t, and I thought that you used the ‘work’ thing as an excuse. An excuse to leave me. Because you didn’t want me anymore.” Pete looked up, eyes searching the younger man’s face for any sign of emotion.

 

Patrick’s heart broke in half. “Oh,  _ Pete _ ,” he said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call, I should’ve called, it was my fault. I was busy, and it was go, go, go all the time—I didn’t even have time to eat most of the time. I shouldn’t have left you like this.” He started to cry again. “I love you, Pete, oh God. I was at the airport earlier in L.A. and I got a bad feeling, too. I thought you were gone. Something told me you had left me, too, and I got here as fast as I could—”

 

Pete pulled Patrick into a hug. “But I’m here, and you’re here, and that’s all that matters. I won’t ever leave, I promise, not even if I hate you. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

 

Patrick sniffed. “Thank God.”

 

Pete smiled, though his eyes were still glossed over with tears. “Yeah. C’mon.”

 

Pete took Patrick’s hand and led him back through the door, to his room. Patrick stopped him. “I meant to ask—why is my cardigan on your floor?”

 

Pete blushed. “It smelled like you.”

 

Patrick took hold of Pete’s shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. The kiss was focused and deep, although chaste.

 

He pulled away. “God, you’re a sap. I love you for it, though.”

 

Pete smiled. “Love you, too.”


End file.
